Diane: "Man, if I hadn't decided earlier today that I am going to be a cold mercenary GOP bitch from now on, that really would have gotten my heart bleeding."
Will Gardner is not interested in Luntz's stripper, no thank you. He is looking for Serrano's dispute resolution seminar, which is apparently... A poker game. Ah, Celeste. For such a complicated woman you sure do have one single metaphor going at all times. Care to make a wager? Or ante up some ... hold 'ems... This is not a language I share with Celeste and Will, so I may be wrong about some idioms. Care to hit on a thirteen or a soft eight? Wanna play six kings to a full straight? Or do a, like a, cribbage on a ... diamond flush? I don't know.
Is still thinking about how much a piece of crap she feels like right now, and offers to help Alicia and Julius with their pro bono case. It's the act-out, so it's more emotional and incisive than it sounds, but it's cool. She's just like, "I am going to help these dudes out. That's what I can do tonight."
Well, turns out life has bonked the sullen white boy upside the head not just by making him a resentful fishmonger and one who lives with his screamin' meemie of a mother, but also he is an Anonymous Alcoholic. Maybe those are all the same thing, actually. I bet if you loved drinking that much and then you couldn't do it anymore, you wouldn't really see any reasons to be nice to random Kalindas. And that's also whence the secret underwear money, because he is the chapter treasurer, which is nice for him. I mean, that shows a certain something about his character, that they trust him to be treasurer. It's not the same thing as being the treasurer of like, nuns, but it's still nice for him. We judged him too harshly, based merely on his horrible attitude and his bureau full of sadness and the smell of fish. Maybe it's another form of cross-racial identification: Maybe all sad people look alike, just like the Beatles said.
Anyway, Kalinda has additionally figured out that the register has been monkeyed with and, coincidentally, the lotto ticket she's obsessing on was redeemed not seconds but an hour plus seconds before the murder. So now it becomes a doubt-spreading narrative -- Kalinda, Alicia, and Diane all working seamlessly together -- about a 30-ish addict who works a couple doors down, knows the door code to the backdoor, likes to gamble, had to move home, etc.